


Disconsolate

by Queen_of_the_Ruckus



Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: AU, Drama, Flashback Era, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:20:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_of_the_Ruckus/pseuds/Queen_of_the_Ruckus
Summary: AU in which Muzaka and Raizel's relationship has progressed beyond friendship. The arrangement strikes Frankenstein as questionable.
Relationships: Frankenstein/Ragar Kertia, Muzaka/Cadis Etrama Di Raizel
Comments: 28
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

Frankenstein lingered frozen in the doorway, uncertain of which side he should be on when it closed. An unfamiliar feeling, when he'd had his run of the house for something close to a year now, and had become quite comfortable under normal circumstances. 

After a moment, and with all of the discipline he could muster, he forced his lips into a small, benign smile, his eyes into a flat, disinterested stare. He bristled unpleasantly at every visiting Noble, but this was something entirely different. He was not yet certain how to react. 

"Ah… Who is your guest, Sir?" Frankenstein’s tone was carefully light as he adjusted his gloves, the title now customary on his lips, devoid at this moment of any snark or undercurrents of animosity. His employer's rendezvous was none of his concern, really. Surely a Noble who could turn down a request from his Lord was equipped to handle himself in such situations. He told himself this as his mind was still reeling, clinging desperately to logic to avoid the embarrassment of an overreaction.

After a moment, a single word left Raizel’s lips, clearly audible for all that it was spoken softly. "Muzaka."

"... _The Werewolf Lord_ ?" Frankenstein blinked, his eyes fixing on wide silvery-gray. _That changes things._ A foreign Lord might actually pose a significant threat to Raizel, might be able to overpower him no matter what his political standing was among his own people. 

The werewolf lord in question was staring back at the human with his mouth slightly open. After another moment he seemed to gather himself, shifting to grin amicably while untangling a hand from Sir Raizel's dark tresses to wave a curt greeting. "Yo…" he trailed off awkwardly. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be here… Guess I should have checked.”

Frankenstein’s breath was beginning to come a bit faster now, the apparent lord of werewolves still lying atop Raizel with his knee pressed up firmly between slim legs, still pinning him down against the newly upholstered velvet cushions. His garish coat was open down the front, and it seemed his pants were undone as well.

His employer's voice had betrayed no distress, but his employer's voice never seemed to betray anything. Raizel's face was partially hidden from view by Muzaka's body, but what he could see was as expressionless as ever. Surely, _surely_ , that wouldn't be the case if the advances were wanted. 

With that, his decision was made. _Inside it is, then._ The door slammed shut behind him with a rattling finality. 

"And you are…" Muzaka tried again, his voice a tad strained but still pleasant. 

"The butler. And it seems as though you're making quite a mess of the couch, I would appreciate it if you would remove yourself." As he approached, the scene before him grew even more surreal. Raizel’s shirt was creased and unbuttoned, exposing paper-pale skin and the graceful lines of his chest. More damningly, the fabric was slightly torn. 

Frankenstein’s aura flared, his protector now apparently in need of his protection. A violation of will was still a violation, no matter the species.

Any werewolf would pose a significant challenge to him, even with his modifications and weapon, and the lord was almost certainly more than he could handle. He'd stand a better chance if he could fight alongside his sparring partner, _surely Ragar would step up to lend aid to the Noblesse_ , but to leave now to enlist him was not truly an option. 

"Perhaps then we might discuss your unannounced presence here, and whatever business you might have with the Noblesse." Frankenstein advanced steadily, his smile growing wide and sharp. "Here, allow me to assist."

Muzaka’s expression was bemused as he ignored the outstretched hand to look back down at Raizel. “Not very friendly, huh. Is that why you didn’t tell me you’d gotten yourself a servant?” He brushed a few strands of hair back from Raizel’s face as he took stock of his companion, his eyes catching at the ruined shirt. “Ah… Sorry, Raizel. It happened again. Hey, I’ll get you another one.”

At this Raizel finally deigned to react, his features creasing in a delicate frown. His eyes flashed scarlet. Muzaka’s fumbling attempt at doing up Raizel’s buttons was cut short, his hands retreating in alarm as white silk flaked away and then reformed. He ran with the motion, removing himself completely from the lounge as the Noblesse straightened and got up, once again pristine.

Muzaka absently adjusted himself as he redid his belt, his gaze now drifting over to the window.

“Shall I show you the way out?”

“Hm?” He snapped his attention back to Raizel, but found himself faced with the glowering blonde in his stead. Muzaka’s voice remained amiable. “No, thanks. I’ve got it.” He shifted to meet Raizel’s eyes over Frankenstein’s shoulder, the taller man nearly shielding the Noble entirely from view. “Hey, I’ll bring you some of what I was talking about next time. I think I’d better be going for now.”

At Raizel’s barest nod, the werewolf lord quit the room by way of his favorite window, already open and apparently dually functional as a door. 

Frankenstein slammed it shut behind him, noting the leisurely pace at which his form was diminishing in the darkness. Muzaka was walking away down the path through the trees with an irritating nonchalance, one hand shoved into a pocket and the other swinging freely.

After a few moments spent watching the intruder retreat, Frankenstein abruptly stifled his animosity and turned to face Cadis Etrama di Raizel. Dipping into an easy bow, he used the motion as an excuse to look him up and down, examining him covertly. “Raizel… Sir, are you alright?”

The shy Noblesse seemed even more distant than usual somehow, though Frankenstein was almost certain that the emotions he attributed to Raizel were of his own invention, dreamed up out of loneliness and a growing fondness for his unobtrusive housemate. 

As he settled in to wait for a response, his eyes scoured what was visible of his employer’s neck, searching for any obvious marks or injury. That was only the second time Frankenstein had witnessed Raizel manipulate, well, anything really, but from the sound of it, this wasn't the first of his shirts to have been ruined by _Muzaka_. That, at least, was sure to have made the Noble unhappy. Though Frankenstein’s true concern here was that the damage might not be visible on the surface. Emotional wounds could be just as damaging as physical ones. Perhaps more so to a being so invested in their soul as a Noble.

“I am fine.” 

But the light within him seemed to shutter as he returned to his habitual place by the window, not bothering to open it. 

He stood as Frankenstein had seen him most days, and he couldn’t help but begin to second-guess his actions. His host could be coaxed further into the sitting room so far only when guests were present. Was it possible that the werewolf was an anticipated visitor? One who treated Raizel’s window as his own personal entrance… Was his employer, perhaps, pining for someone? Someone he had just dismissed of his own accord, and after he had found them like _that_ -

“Sir Raizel, who is Lord Muzaka to you?” A strange chill seeped into him as he waited. He had acted without enough information. 

His decision to eavesdrop on Raizel’s Noble visitors was not something he would apologize for - _could_ not, as his own kind were still dying in droves and he had yet to oust the clan leaders responsible. But that fact did not entitle him to ruin his host’s personal life at every turn. The man had been nothing but kind to him, had stuck his neck out for him after Frankenstein had stolen from him and then lied to his face. This was not at all how he wished to repay him.

“He is… my friend.” 

Frankenstein’s frown deepened. The words sounded flat, and Raizel’s back was still turned to the room. 

Friendship did not explain what he had walked in on, but he was admittedly still unused to the language. He had aggressively picked up as much Lukedonian as he could to improve his ability to listen in, but right this moment, he was almost regretful that he had not allowed his host to learn his native tongue as Raizel had been wont to do upon his arrival.

Rather than dragging the matter out, he dismissed himself for the evening, first ensuring that there was nothing further that Raizel required. There never was.

But the matter was far from concluded to Frankenstein’s satisfaction.


	2. Chapter 2

Muzaka made his way lazily through the mild Lukedonian night, plodding towards the shore nearest his people. Raizel’s place tended to be the last stop in his listless endeavors before his guilt flared up enough to drag him back home. 

It was hard for him to say why this was. No one ever seemed to look for him in Lukedonia, so it wasn’t as though his people could ask him for anything. Garda seemed to find him with an unreasonable frequency almost everywhere else, much to his frustration. It was an amusing game that they played, but he wasn’t ready for children and so he avoided her.

No, it wasn’t the demands of his own kind that pulled him back. And Raizel never admonished him for his absence, either. At least not with words. Honestly, that was part of the draw. Raizel was soft-spoken but attentive. Every story and trinket he brought was, for him, entirely new. And the Noblesse was somehow even lonelier than he found himself. Raizel avoided his people as well, never going so far as to leave Lukedonia, but never venturing out of that manor, either. It was convenient, always knowing where he could find him like that.

He would stay sometimes for a week or a month. Raizel never seemed to mind. It seemed that Lukedonia did not care much for time, so no amount was an imposition. He would confide in him of his troubles and tell him of his travels. It was easy.

He normally remembered to bring something that might be of interest, but this time he had shown up empty-handed. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten, and it wasn’t as though nothing had caught his eye as he ventured across Europe. This time… It was almost like a test, if he could admit such a thing to himself. Everyone always wanted him to do things for them, expected something of him. But Raizel, it seemed, would accept him no matter what. Never objected to anything he wanted to do. 

But no, that wasn’t entirely accurate. The only thing that caused Muzaka discomfort in Lukedonia was the complete lack of food. This wasn’t a problem, as he could easily sustain himself by hunting the local fauna. But the look Raizel had given him the one time he’d attempted to serve him fresh dove… Muzaka smiled fondly at the memory. Raizel really was a strange one. Dove was Garda’s favorite meal.

His smile faded as he continued down the trail, the thick trees converging overhead to block out the weak moonlight. Leaves rustled pleasantly as he went. 

The strange lack of meals in this place wasn’t the only discomfort anymore. Raizel had gotten himself a roommate, and a rude one at that. The man hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself after interrupting them. Had the human even knocked?

Plodding along while frowning to himself, tied up in his own musings, Muzaka failed to notice the Noble until she was standing right in front of him, barring his way down the path. She smelled of nothing. She made no sound. She merely waited, her fair hair barely distinguishable from the darkness around them, staring at him with dull, shadowed eyes.

Muzaka stopped a polite distance from her and nodded. This was not his first encounter with Edian, and she’d always struck him as peaceable. Like most of the Nobles he’d come across, she comported herself quietly. It was a surprise to him, now, to hear that she had something to say.

  
  


***

Sweat ran from Frankenstein freely, his chest heaving with each painful gasp. He smiled up at Ragar through his teeth as he accepted the hand up, allowing himself to be pulled from where he lay.

His breath was coming easier already now that the strain of handling his weapon was no longer pulling him under. Fresh blood mingled with the sweat on his hand, and he followed the trail up Ragar’s arm to where it flowed from a shallow gash, the wound already knitting.

He observed the Noble’s wound in satisfaction, pleased that he had perhaps given as good as he had received - though it was always difficult to tell when Ragar healed so much more quickly than himself. Landing a hit that lingered until the end of the fight was a rarity.

Ragar nodded appreciatively, his eyes sweeping Franken’s relatively un-tattered clothes, drenched mostly in sweat and not as much with blood as in previous spars. “You are improving quickly.” 

Frankenstein swallowed a scoff as he dusted himself off, fighting to keep his bloodied palms from adding to the mess. _What does “quickly” mean to a race that lives as long as these?_ Blue eyes looked on greedily as Ragar reformed his clothing. “Perhaps you could teach me how you do that sometime… _Friend_.”

Ragar’s brow furrowed slightly, and Frankenstein didn’t bother hiding his interest in the reaction. The incident between the master of the manor and the Lord of werewolves had bothered him much like the layers of filth that had coated virtually every surface prior to his arrival.

“I have been very deliberate in my instruction, friend.”

Frankenstein blinked. He reviewed the exchange and then blinked again. ‘Friend’ had been the word in question, but now he found himself absolutely puzzled. The explanation that followed was less than enlightening. Frankenstein wasn't interested in psychic communication so the point was moot. He would pick it up by watching, or else he would find an alternative.

They sat together at the edge of a clear stream, their own custom after a spar, as the conversation lapsed and the human washed out his clothing and cleaned out his wounds. The deep glow of the evening sun deepened the gold in Frankenstein’s curls and granted a warmth to Ragar’s pale skin.

They sat together quietly, Frankenstein’s clothing hung out to dry in the moderate breeze, the weather on Lukedonia never warm or cold. His fingers brushed Ragar’s sleeve, feeling for the hint of any lingering damage from the fight, though of course there was none.

And then he bit at the inside of his cheek, wishing suddenly that his own body wasn’t so ravaged from his practice with Dark Spear. His breath caught at the memory of the bite of blade into flesh, and he leaned in to indulge in a kiss instead. There was no taste, would not have been even without the thin barrier of Ragar’s mask. 

Ragar’s response had been learned from his own example, and the corners of his mouth quirked up as his companion bit at his lip. 

He drew back sooner than he would have, his mood turning pensive and troubled. “Ragar, what is a friend to you? Is it this?”

“It can be.” At Frankenstein’s frown he continued, tugging at his mask as he considered his words. “It is not what the word means. It would be easier to communicate meaning if you would consent to sharing knowledge.”

“Stay out of my head,” Frankenstein snapped, before recovering his companionable tone. “It was something Sir Raizel brought up, but I did not inquire as to the connotation.”

At that, Ragar visibly brightened. The sun dipped lazily past the treeline, making way for more subtle things. Moonlight and starlight and the tight press of bodies, alone and unobserved for they were on the edge of Noblesse land.

***

“It is an honor to be a friend to the Noblesse.” Ragar offered with approval. His steps were silent at Frankenstein’s side, the clan leader accompanying him back to his residence. The stately manor not yet separated from the darkness of the woods to greet them, though they were close.

Frankenstein stopped while they were still out of view, not wanting to be observed by his host and uncertain of what he should disclose. Their 'guest' had entered through a window, after all. Was that due to poor manners, villainy, or an attempt at discretion? 

In light of the ambiguous information he had gotten out of Ragar, he decided to be forthcoming. If something truly was wrong, he would need assistance in correcting it, anyway. “He was referring to Lord Muzaka, the werewolf.”

“Excuse me.”

Frankenstein found himself standing alone in the woods, the Kertia clan leader now almost as silent as he was swift.


	3. Chapter 3

Raizel stood at his window, though his attention was not held by birdsong or the breeze or the bright light now glistening across shifting irregularities on the surface of the lake. His mind was not with the industrious spider at his sill, nor with the resting moths hidden in the curtains. 

Today was different. His thoughts, his concern, his regard, all of it was leveled now at the human who lingered uncomfortably outside his door. The man who had only just arrived, and already his intent was to gather information and clean. Was he well enough?

_No_ , he decided. The man, Frankenstein, he had called himself, was still wounded. And he was as angry as he was distrustful. _He… does not wish to trust me?_ But that insight was tucked away as the human composed himself, and Raizel did not wish to pry at what was obviously now meant to be hidden. And so he withdrew to lighter areas of thought. There was no fear of him, and that was a refreshing enough place to begin with this new being.

Frankenstein's intention was to clean. 'To gather information' was now tucked away along with his weapon and his anger, and so Raizel no longer looked. This man was not a criminal, and Raizel was considerate of privacy when it was a privilege he could afford.

Having another being here, one who he could shelter and protect as he had for wounded birds and limbless insects, was a privilege he could not pass up. He needed to be… careful. Considerate and calming, to move only as expected until the human felt safe enough to have his wounds and weapon examined. Raizel had moved quickly with the shirt the night before, and while the human had been appreciative, he was also distinctly _unappreciative_ at the same time, and that was something he would have to think on. Though he would not examine such contradictions now, as the negative was all being drawn deep within and tucked away beyond a thin barrier that Raizel wouldn't dare touch for fear of breaking it as he had broken so many others.

A knock at the door, and Frankenstein let himself in, radiating self-assurance and determination.

And a thinly veiled disgust, but that was directed at the "filth" and moths and spiders. Raizel urged them all silently to leave, though most only stirred as the human threw back the heavy curtains, displacing insects and dust and letting in the light.

Frankenstein made his way systematically down the row of windows; thoroughly, methodically, carefully. Further insights into the soul he had judged innocent a few scant hours prior. 

Pain filled his movements, the wounds in his hands still raw. But Raizel could only share in it, his assistance vehemently unwanted.

"Excuse me, I will clean this window, now." The man's Lukedonian was well-rehearsed and a jarring contradiction against his internal dialogue. Raizel could feel the echo of satisfaction directed inward, the pride of a small success.

He stepped aside, not overly quick, not too slow. A moderate pace that he felt the human would be comfortable with. Raizel rolled the new words over in his mind, mulling them over and considering his options. 

The human had already moved on to another window by the time he had decided on what to say. "Thank you."

Frankenstein opened his mouth to respond. Then he froze, a shiver running through him, goosebumps prickling his skin. "Clean" turned to "fight", to "run".

His veneer cracked, though he had already known that Raizel could read him, had been on his guard since the Noble had inquired about Dark Spear. "I have not informed you of my native tongue or country of origin. Stay out of my head, I do not permit you to access my thoughts."

And it was anger laced violet and black, and it was screaming and laughing and crying, and it was hurting the human far worse than he was already physically wounded. But it was not his desire to be helped, and Raizel was frozen.

The human swept out of the room, his self-imposed job abandoned, the door slamming shut in his wake.

Raizel remained where he had been ushered, lost in what had just transpired. The human considered _any_ access to his mind an infraction?

Hours slipped by and the human did not return to the room, though he seemed to remain somewhere within the manor. At last, Raizel crossed the sitting room to retrieve a small dark box from its confinement, fastening the second of the Lord's gifts into place. 

He would be physically summoned if his presence was required by the Lord, he could remove the seals then. In the meantime, the human could gather what information he desired, heal, and then return to his own kind. The arrangement was still a privilege to him, even as his perceptions became muddied and thick, his presence confined and turned inward.

  
  


***

Frankenstein diligently wiped the window clean with a well-worn efficiency, the master of the house standing quietly off to the side as he had a hundred times before.

The arrangement had grown comfortable, if stagnant. Any attempts to pull Cadis Etrama di Raizel into conversation or away from his window for anything other than cleaning or company had failed miserably, though the man also seemed respectful of his boundaries, and that was more than worth the silent enigma that was his host. If company was the only thing his employer enjoyed, perhaps Ragar could be convinced to call upon the Noblesse with greater frequency, perhaps before their regular meetings.

Frankenstein happily straightened the sheer curtains - he had replaced the heavy motheaten rags shortly after taking up residence - and applied a cursory coat of oil to the hinges. 

"Sir Raizel you may-" he dropped off, the words catching in his throat.

Swallowing his curses for the sake of propriety, Frankenstein smiled coldly instead as he met pale gray eyes. He deliberately secured the window latch.

Muzaka crouched down on the window ledge, hesitantly curling his fist to rap lightly at the previously spotless glass. He aimed an uneasy smile at the butler, neither of them conceding to relent before Raizel at last took notice and pushed open the glass.


	4. Chapter 4

“Aren’t you supposed to get us something to drink or something?” Muzaka stood awkwardly just within the confines of the room, eyes locked on Frankenstein’s less than welcoming glare. 

“For a guest? Perhaps. But guests enter through the front door, do they not?” Frankenstein’s smile was crisp, eyes trailing over to the dirt ground into the otherwise gleamingly white window sill. Never mind that he had never once offered anything of the sort to any of Raizel’s _actual_ guests.

“And you normally make your master let people in, himself?” Muzaka was no longer looking at the human. His patience for the situation was proven short as he pushed his way further into the room. “Hey Raizel, why not let this guy go and bring in somebody else?”

“My _employer_ deigned to allow you in through the _window_. I--”

“You have returned sooner than expected.” Raizel’s quiet voice cut through their conversation from across the room, bringing Frankenstein up short. When had the man made his way over to the couch? He'd so seldom moved from the window...

Frankenstein mentally shook himself. He moved instead to stand behind his employer where he sat, waiting attentively by all appearances.

"So anyway… Raizel.” The werewolf lord’s gaze flitted between the Noblesse and his servant as he took his seat across from them. “Are you… well? I’ve heard…”

“I am fine.” Sir Raizel shifted slightly in his seat, two pairs of eyes scrutinizing the movement, reading into it what they would. 

“...I see. And Frankenstein, has he--?” Frankenstein’s attention snapped back to Lord Muzaka as he trailed off, apparently uncertain of how to put his question to words as one hand turned pointlessly through the empty air. 

_Oh._ The realization hit him like nothing physical ever could. His shoulders dipped wearily even as his spine grew rigid, his expression going flat. “I never gave you my name.”

Amidst the tarnished exhaustion of being hunted for so long and the anger rising up at the reminder of his inflated notoriety, a small piece of relief shone through. The werewolf had returned out of _concern_ , at least the mangy dog’s intent wasn’t nefarious. _Probably_. He’d get that out of Ragar soon enough.

Muzaka's attention was back on Frankenstein. “Yeah that was pretty rude, but I’ll get to the point. Why are you hanging around?”

“I work here, I thought that much was obvious.” The weariness was carefully withheld from his tone. 

“Then why don’t you go clean or fetch us a drink or something?”

_Time alone to fill Raizel’s head with lies, undoubtedly._ But his position in the House of the Noblesse was too advantageous for Frankenstein to allow it to slip away so easily. Instead, he deferred to his employer. “Sir Raizel, is there anything you require?”

Two sets of eyes burned a hole through him in the lengthening silence before the Noblesse turned his attention back from the window. He declined wordlessly, though his gaze now lingered on Muzaka. Shyly, the look almost expectant.

Muzaka’s mouth thinned, his brow creasing. “Hey, Raizel... Why don’t you come with me, there’s something I want to show you,” he asked, his voice falsely casual. 

Frankenstein nearly scoffed aloud at such a ridiculous proposal. Raizel rarely left this very room, let alone--

Raizel’s head dipped into a short nod as he rose smoothly from the couch.

Frankenstein blinked. Then blinked again. He watched on in stunned silence as the reclusive master of the house trailed after the smug figure of Muzaka, _out the window_ , and out of view. 

After a long moment his eyes slipped down to rest on the newest set of grimy footprints gracing the window sill. Only two sets, one in and one out, as the master of the house was not a _filthy barefooted heathen--_

He opened one clenched fist and allowed the charred remains of his cleaning cloth to fall to the floor. Then he turned on heel without looking back, determinedly refusing to think about it until he'd poured himself a steaming cup of _'something to drink or something'_.

  
  
  


***

The sunshine and the rush of cool wind felt good on Muzaka's skin, bolstering his small victory and driving him to take his companion farther from his home than was strictly necessary. It was pleasing to find that the delicate Noblesse could keep pace with him easily, fragile only in appearance.

He steered them outside of Lukedonia without much thought as to where they would end up. The salt-spray over choppy, steel-blue ocean gave way to glimmering shoreline, gave way to thick forest. Birds scattered at their passing, the other woodland creatures deciding on instinct whether to stand stock-still or flee. It made little difference, Muzaka paid them no mind. It wasn't until the acrid tang of hearth fire and other earthy scents of gathered humans reached him that Muzaka came back to the present from his passive reverie. The northern region was pleasant to him, and he had been drawn to it without thinking. Slowing to a more human pace, he checked that Raizel was still following closely before leading them to the wooden gates of a modest settlement, nestled cozily in an artificial clearing in the woods.

They passed unhindered through heavy gates designed to keep out their kind, Muzaka exchanging familiar pleasantries with an oblivious guardsman as Raizel looked on with interest. 

Or what Muzaka had come to _assume_ was interest, anyway. His red gaze was leveled on the cobbled town square, on the humans going about their own business, his hair shifting gently in the crisp breeze. Was he taking it all in, or was there a vacancy in his companion? Despite agreeing to the change in location, the Noblesse didn't seem as enchanted as one might expect. He was never exactly _responsive_ , but normally Raizel seemed to come alive when faced with anything new. 

"Raizel." 

The Noblesse gave no indication as to whether he had heard. Brusquely, Muzaka took him by the arm and steered him away from the gatehouse and out of the streets. A Noble might pass for a human easily enough, but his clothes were still out of place and people were starting to take notice.

They passed the market without pause, heading directly down an unmarked street, and into a cozy building at the end of the lane. Raizel matched his pace silently, accommodating for being led by the arm with surprising grace.

It wasn’t until they were seated at a sturdy oaken table that the Noblesse seemed to really notice anything, his gaze focusing again on Muzaka with that unfamiliar anticipation.

Muzaka blinked at him, uncertain of how to proceed now that they were able to speak freely, outside of the overbearing servant’s influence or knowledge. But to his great amazement, it was Raizel who broke their silence. “This is where we must go to eat honey?”

“What?" It was the single strangest thing he'd ever heard from the Noblesse. Perhaps from anyone.

"You said that you would bring some." Raizel's voice was steady, his eyes meeting Muzaka's not in accusation, but in statement of fact.

“Oh…" He _had_ promised to bring some on his next visit, a gift he was sure that Raizel would like after how much he'd enjoyed the mead. His words had been all but forgotten in light of all the discomfiting things he'd heard about _that human_. "Yeah, we can have some while we talk about… things." He trailed off, studying Raizel in the hopes that his well-being might be validated by some outward clue. Perhaps Frankenstein wasn’t as dangerous as he’d heard? His companion seemed to have retained his recent memories, at any rate. Hadn't Edian said--

His thoughts were interrupted as a familiar figure drifted over to help their table. “Oh, hey! Lena!” Muzaka attempted to wave her over, unconscious grin spreading across his face.

The girl instantly darkened and she turned away, thick brown hair covering her eyes as she veered off towards the back of the establishment. “Lena? Uhh…” He stared after her for a moment before running his hand through his hair and turning back to Raizel. “She’s normally not like that. Here, I’ll be right back.”

***

It was some time before Muzaka actually returned to the table, honeycomb in hand from an impromptu trip to the dwindling evening market. The simple tavern fare he had requested to go along with it had grown cold in his absence. The cook had declined to send someone out on his little errand, apparently holding some sort of grudge against the werewolf, though Muzaka had no idea what it might be. It didn't bother him overmuch, and he kept his head high as he navigated back to his unmoving companion.

It was with the immense satisfaction of a successful provider that the wolf lord finally unwrapped the oozing mess of wildflower honey, tipping the comb out next to a round loaf of bread for the Noblesse to sample. He then sat down to his own plate, picking up the greasy meat with his fingers and tearing a bite off of the bone, wondering where on earth he should start.

Raizel's red eyes were following his every move. Muzaka swallowed, then returned the charred mutton to the table uncomfortably. At this point _,_ he was stalling and he knew it. _Get on with it, damn it!_ He cleared his throat. "Hey, Raizel. Has that Frankenstein human done anything to you? And if not, do you think you might... be forgetting about it?" Not his proudest choice of words, but he kept his gaze level, searching for any sign that something might be amiss.

Raizel cocked his head, ever so slightly. A pale echo of the motion Muzaka was now conscious of having made before in his presence. "I have already made my judgement of Frankenstein." And then he reached for the honeycomb as though the matter had already been forgotten, holding it delicately as he took a single bite from its edge. 

It was mesmerizing to watch. Raizel went back for another bite. And then another, Muzaka quickly lost count. Raizel moved with a graceful slowness, swallowing down pure honey and beeswax alike. He showed no inclination for flavoring his bread with it, as Muzaka had originally intended. Nor did it run down his hands or drip onto the table as one might expect. His fingertips remained surprisingly clean, though the werewolf found himself envisioning the slightest flick of Raizel’s pink tongue slipping out to lick an imaginary stray drop.

Muzaka shook his head to clear it. Though now that he was thinking about it, perhaps there was a reason the human had insisted on interrupting them the first time they’d met? Perhaps the evidence of his cruel experiments lay hidden beneath the Noble’s clothes? A room at the inn might be in order. _And perhaps some more honey, as well..._

“My Lord. Your return home was so fleeting--”

_Shit_. 

Muzaka’s attention snapped to Garda, her all too familiar, too serious voice laying waste to his tentative plans for the evening. She stood just within the tavern’s doorway, copper hair glinting in the low light, lean figure frozen part way through the act of kneeling.

Muzaka stiffened. Garda’s copper eyes were not on him, her gaze locked instead upon his Noble companion. He wasn’t sure what this looked like, but from the shock and contempt displayed across her face, he expected it wasn’t good. At worst, his keeping company with a Noble might be taken as a collusion or betrayal of their kind, though Garda would have no way of knowing Raizel’s position. At the very least he’d have a harder time shaking his loyal aide in the future, now that she’d gotten a glimpse at what he’d been up to in her absence.

The wooden bench beneath him screeched unpleasantly across the floor as he rose, hastily tipping out a handful of roughly stamped coins onto the table to pay for their meal and offering up a parting nod to Raizel. 

“Ah, Garda!” He swept over to her, stretching an arm behind her shoulders and turning her back towards the entrance. “I’d heard a rumor about something here that may have needed my attention, but--” The door closed behind them, muting the conversation for any humans who may have been watching the unusual display with any interest.

***

Raizel returned what small piece remained of his honeycomb to the plate as Muzaka made his exit, the serenity of having a silent soul for company fading away as he lost his point of focus, the sweetness on his tongue losing its allure. He’d recognized the name ‘Garda’ from Muzaka’s many rants, but had been unable to understand the rest of the exchange. His friend normally spoke Lukedonian in his presence, and even if Raizel had wanted to learn their language, werewolf souls were as silent to him as the dirt beneath his feet. Quieter, even. The earth was full of insects and reptiles and rodents all chattering through the night...

The human Lena appeared beside his table, looking as though she was about to cry, or break something, or perhaps both at once. In a voice almost shaking with misplaced emotion, she asked him something in yet another language, gesturing to Muzaka’s abandoned place at the table. Raizel met her blue eyes politely-- 

_“_ _Mal sehen, ob ich dich jetzt Ashleen treffen lasse, wenn du mich beiseite geworfen hast--”_

And quickly looked away again, her intrusive thoughts too loud to ignore while making eye contact, even with both of the Lord’s seals in place. Frankenstein had been so sincere in his chastisement over mental intrusion, and Raizel did not wish to upset the human any further. Or any human, for that matter.

The woman asked another question, this one tinted in anger. She was pointing at him, gesturing at things too quickly for him to take proper notice. Other patrons were starting to turn their attention on Raizel as well, curiosity and confusion and annoyance all filling up the space of the room like a dense fog.

The weight of ignoring their collective thoughts and emotions pressed in all around him, his own thoughts and emotions swirling dense within the confines of his body. Quietly, he removed one earring and wrapped himself in the suggestion of obscurity, of absence, of forgottenness.

The waitress blinked. Then she set about collecting the coins from the now-unattended table, wondering for all the world why there were two place settings when there had only been one guest.


End file.
